Touch
by Shoiryu
Summary: And this is simply another way to be close.


**TOUCH**

It takes nearly three months for Obi-Wan to realize that there is something wrong with his apprentice.

There are subtle hints at first, yes, though never in words, because Anakin has such trouble with words that Obi-Wan has seen him frustrated to the point of tears over simple attempts to explain why he does or does not feel in certain ways. He cannot articulate that he misses his mother in anything other than those simple words, he cannot express the fact that he is teased here at the Temple in any other fashion than sullenly muttering that he "hates classes".

It's not to say that Anakin isn't an expressive child, or an unfeeling one. Very much the opposite, but therein, Obi-Wan is beginning to discover, is the issue.

Other things take the place of missing words.

It isn't customary for the Piloting and Navigation instructors to be upset with Anakin Skywalker, because he is in most respects a model student of the subject. Bright and experienced and always eager to learn more about a subject in which he excels, he rarely returns to Obi-Wan's graces with anything other than cheerful reports as to his own progress.

Today, however, is different, because today Anakin has reported back to their shared quarters with a sullen, unhappy face, amid angry reports from his teachers. Why? Obi-Wan asks, and is told only that his apprentice has been starting fistfights. "Attacking other students unprovoked," are the exact words of the Piloting instructor, her short tentacles curling irritably around her rubbery maw.

The only thing to do at this point is to turn to Anakin with his questions, which Obi-Wan does, doing his very best to school his expression into the detached calm of a more experienced Knight.

"He touched me," Anakin says, chin jutting out as though daring Obi-Wan to find fault with this justification. "I told him not to."

Obi-Wan's idea of a touching that warrants physical violence is not something he can imagine _Anakin_ being blamed for, nor is it something he can even fathom happening in the Jedi Temple at all, but he can't quite contain the alarmed rise of his voice as he says, "What kind of _touch_, Padawan?"

On the shoulder, as it turns out, the sort of casual lean most boys of that age engage in with their peers. The boy had simply decided that Anakin's shoulder was an acceptable place to rest his elbow for a few seconds during a lecture. Anakin had in turn found it perfectly acceptable to punch him until he bled.

That night Anakin crawls uninvited into his bed to press himself against Obi-Wan's chest, and Obi-Wan does not understand. There is no other apparent motivation beyond that of any son seeking his father's hand. Anakin wants to be touched, to be reassured that he exists, and Obi-Wan exists, and though the two of them may be alone they are at least alone together.

Some degree of that is understandable. Obi-Wan remembers being small in a very big galaxy, remembers large protective hands against the back of his neck and his shoulders, and he strokes Anakin's hair after a moment's hesitation. The boy sleeps on, but Obi-Wan feels his mind shift agreeably in reaction.

Obi-Wan does not quite understand, but he thinks perhaps he is beginning to.

Anakin keeps few friends as the years pass. It isn't that he's unlikable, simply that he's confusing. Anakin is both warm and prickly, engaging and dismissive, intelligent and painfully unwise, a roil of paradox, always balanced in his inequality. He does not want to be touched at all, or he wants it _too_ much, in ways Jedi should not, in desperate and breathless ways. He snarls at his peers when they attempt to pat him on the shoulder and he jerks away at the brush of hands against his own, but he cannot seem to understand why Obi-Wan finds it odd that they continue to share a bed into his teenage years. It isn't anything untoward. Anakin only wants to be held. His presence is all fire and spark, able to burn viciously or warm comfortingly at his discretion, and as time passes Obi-Wan comes to find that he prefers that warmth close to him, physically as well as emotionally.

Anakin is fourteen when the Ma'arii take him prisoner on a routine mission. Growing taller but not yet tall enough for Obi-Wan to see him as anything more or less than a child, and _his_ child at that, for all his awkward rebellion. It is the longest week of Obi-Wan's life, the waiting to know whether or not his apprentice is well and whole. When he is at last given information enough to begin his search he jumps to it promptly, enlisting local help for better effectiveness. When they find Anakin, he is already waiting for them, at the entrance to the underground bunker in which he has been kept.

Anakin is wild-eyed, shuddering, his every breath escaping him with a jagged upset sound. He's wounded somewhere, too, hidden beneath what remains of his clothing, and Obi-Wan's movement towards him, to take him by the shoulders and pull him close, is natural. He feels muscle go stiff beneath his hands, defensive and angry, and something in his stomach curls up in terror. Anakin has never responded to his touch with raised hackles before.

"Anakin- Anakin, are you... did they-" Obi-Wan realizes that he's on the verge of saying the word in that same outraged and offended tone that Anakin has always used. _Did they **touch** you._ The boy looks up at him with tired understanding, and only shakes his head, lifting his right hand for his Master's inspection. It's spattered with blood nearly all the way to the elbow.

"Not mine," he says, voice rasping, and this is his answer; _it didn't happen, because they all died instead._ Obi-Wan can say nothing to that, to the relief that holds him immobile, even as Anakin sinks into exhausted unconsciousness, taking refuge in the familiar safe circle of his Master's arms.

Obi-Wan clutches his Padawan against his chest and tries to will himself to stop trembling.

Anakin's violence, he understands now, is only ever reactionary. A response to the violation of things he holds sacred and important, a need to defend himself from the invasion of those he does not trust.

A part of Obi-Wan is honored to be among those so trusted. The rest of him is alarmed at the degree of attachment both he and his apprentice are engaged in.

He discovers later, while the local medics tend to the shaken and dehydrated boy, that the reason only one arm is bloodied is because the other is cleanly broken in three separate places, and therefore of no use in ripping flesh barehanded. Obi-Wan chooses to put aside the rush of horror that rises at this realization, and instead puts his hand to Anakin's cheek, letting his unease subside like tide as Anakin turns his head to nuzzle his palm.

The thing begins years later out of a curiosity over that magnetic physical draw between them, for as much as Anakin will not stop touching Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan cannot seem to stop touching him in return. Contact is customary in private moments during the difficult eighteenth year, when Anakin is done raging against him and the world for what teenage hormones wreck upon his temperament. Obi-Wan has learned that one of the easiest ways to soothe them both is the communal embrace. They lean against each other, drawing strength from the same well, while Anakin mutters irritably against his shoulder but is perfectly submissive, for once, perfectly calmed beneath Obi-Wan's hands and the easy patterns they rub against his broad back.

They are of the same matter here, composed of the same cosmic energy, the same Force which moves them day by day. Anakin is rough and cocky and eager to grow up; Obi-Wan is patient and thoughtful and has been an adult for far, far too long. These distinctions do not matter in the face of the Force, or in the face of the fact that in reality, in the only reality that matters, they are one.

Obi-Wan inhales the scent of fire from the gold of Anakin's hair, feels the breath that moves through their bodies in time, and understands.

It is nothing at all to let his hands move lower, to grasp at flesh and squeeze. The sound Anakin makes is tight and sharp and faintly dangerous, and his fingers clench for a moment against Obi-Wan's shoulders. Further movement draws motion, the forward buck of Anakin's hips into his body and Obi-Wan finds himself the recipient of a kiss that is hot and eager and perfectly inexperienced but willing to learn. This new form of contact holds nothing of lust.

It is only another way to be close.

Obi-Wan leads and it is as easy as a long practiced kata, and they do not speak; he pulls Anakin to the floor and moves him into writhing, squirming motion with hands and mouth and body alike. Anakin is not submissive by nature and at first he is trying too hard to remain in control, to keep in his breath and his cries, but calm and continued application of pressure, of friction, of _tongue_ soon have him growling his encouragement. Anakin does not whimper or make soft or helpless sounds. He snarls instead, groans deep and wanting, and lifts into Obi-Wan's touch, as fierce and wild here as he is in combat. Obi-Wan senses the edge of violence boiling beneath Anakin's skin, prepared to rise at a moment's notice should it be deemed necessary, but not for him. Never for him.

When it is finished they lie in a tangle of limbs and discarded clothing. The floor is hard beneath Obi-Wan's back, but not in an uncomfortable way, and Anakin's mouth is momentarily gentle against his cheek.

"Thanks, Master," he says, lifting himself to his feet, uncaring and perfectly at ease with his own nudity, with the act they've performed, with the fact that there has been no significant change in their relationship because of it. He turns, grinning the familiar self-satisfied grin, and offers Obi-Wan a hand, to help him to his feet.

They take turns in the fresher. Obi-Wan hears Anakin humming to himself amid the sounds of running water, and he smiles, briefly, before he goes to fetch them both fresh clothes.

The next day Anakin is as sullen and uncooperative as ever, as awkward and inarticulate as he always is, and Obi-Wan is grateful, even pleased, because it means that he was correct in his understanding, and sex is only another way for them to touch.

In the end the act is unimportant. In the end it means more to Obi-Wan that Anakin does not growl at him for a hand on his shoulder, for the playful ruffling of his hair. It means more that Anakin's fire warms him and does not always burn.

It means more that they belong to each other, in whatever fashion necessary, and though Obi-Wan understands in later years that Anakin's fire-heart holds room for more than one, though he knows she is loved just as much as he, he knows even more so that she will never be loved in the same way.

Anakin touches him, in more ways than one, for all his faults and whatever strangeness he might contain.

Obi-Wan is grateful to be allowed to do the same in return.


End file.
